Greenwaves
by Ryoko Metallium
Summary: CORRECTED The Hero of Kvatch is mortally wounded after being held prisoner by the Mythic Dawn. While Martin cares for the fallen hero, he begins to realize his destiny as king as well as his feelings for the woman who saved him from Kvatch
1. Chapter 1

Title: Green Waves

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: Okay, let me start off by saying this one thing. Whenever I get a break off school, I make it my mission to use that time frame to catch up on all my stories...or at least try to make a dent in my ever growing pile. That was my goal this past christmas break. Unfortunately I failed, again. This time I ended up getting wrapped up in other projects and other stories and I completely hated myself that I didn't dedicate what little time I had to what I really needed to get done. And now with school about to start in a matter of six days, I couldn't be anymore angry with myself. The only comfort I can take in is the fact that I only have one class this time and it's math and only on Tuesday and Thursday. So hopefully in between math class, I can get some work done that I didn't get to over my winter break. **

**I'm so sorry to everyone who has been waiting for new updates on my other stories. You guys are wonderful and I love every single of you who turn in reviews. I write for you! And just so I can keep up with the demand for updates, I'm training myself to write several stories at once (not an easy thing to do, but you do what you have to do in a pinch). UPDATES ARE COMING!! I know that I've said that before, but I'm trying. What else can I do?**

**Okay, now that I've spilled my guts, just one more thing I want to get out of the way. The idea for this story was a long time coming but really didn't come into it's own until after I read the story _Champion_ by author Callalili. A wonderful story that really helped kick into the gear the ideas I had for my story. I highly recommend reading anything by Callalili. **

**This one is for you friend!**

**Enjoys!**

**Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion series is property of Bethesda Softworks Inc. I am only borrowing them; I promise I'll give them back.**

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**Chapter One: The Fallen Blade**

Every so often, the gentle crackle and pop coming from the fire burning in the hearth would alert Martin awake just as his eyes were beginning to droop. The hours he had spent study over the numerous of books and scrolls piled high before him on the table were beginning to wear him out. As for Baurus standing vigilance behind him, Martin was completely along in the Great Hall of Cloud Ruler Temple. It was well past midnight and all of the blades had turned in. By his guess, Martin had been studying well over eight hours. He closed the copy of _'The Last King of the Ayleids'_ he been pouring over, placing it back on the table and leaned back in his chair.

Martin groaned as the knotted muscles in his shoulders and back released.

"Are you alright, you highness?"

Your Highness…no matter many times that phase had been spoken to him, it continued to feel foreign. Such a title was reserved for someone of great importance; not a disillusioned priest.

"Yes Baurus. I'm fine. Just taking a well-deserved break."

Near his mounting stacks of books were the remains of his supper; a few slices of bread and cheese with an empty cup of ale. Martin nibbled on the few leftover crumbs. Earlier in the day, Jauffre was ready to serve Martin with a glorious feast fitting for…well, a king. Just about everyone was ready to lavish him with the royal treatment, but he would nothing of it. For one thing, he knew only of the simple pleasures of life. Having to dine of extricate gourmet meals seemed completely unnecessary for him. As a monk, Martin much preferred the basics. Another reason being that he was still getting used to the idea of being thought of as royalty.

It had only been a couple of weeks since he was brought to Cloud Ruler Temple. It had only been a couple of weeks since the Oblivion invasion upon Kvatch that had burned the castle city to the ground and had started a new course in his life. It seemed like only yesterday that Martin was in the chapel, giving mid-day prayers to Akatosh just as he had all his life. In fact, it practically was yesterday. Funny how destiny has its way of rewriting itself.

Martin's life was a monk died the same day as Kvatch, yet unlike the city, he was given a second chance. He was chosen by fate to become the shiny star of hope for all of Tamriel and rescue his country men from the brewing invasion of Oblivion. A big job for someone who never as so much held a sword let alone knew how to wield one. Again, such skills were best left to warriors, not priests whose only skills lay within mysticism. Martin was no warrior. Maybe that was the reason for reading every book he could retrieve from the library. He hoped he would come across some heroic tale of the knights of yesterday or some valiant passage of his forefather, so he could hopefully learn from them on how to be proper leader.

"Your highness, the hour grows late. It would be best that you retire to your bedchambers for you exhaust yourself."

Martin sighed, shaking his head. Baurus was just as bad as Jauffre worrying over him like a mother hen. They both meant well, but all this attention was starting to become irritating. "All in due time, my friend. But first I think I could go for some fresh air."

"Allow me to accompany you then, your majesty," said Baurus. "It's best not to take any risks of possible assassins that could be patrolling the area nearby."

Just another irritating matter that Martin was never going to get used to; having armed guards chaperoning him at every step. Annoying but completely necessary. After all, Uriel Septim and his sons were dead. Martin was the last heir. All the extra protection was essential but only bright to light an even harsher reality was of having someone always putting themselves in danger just for his sake. It was almost unheard of that a simple stroll got cost him his life. But Baurus made a valid point. With the new situation that Martin found himself in, certain precautions had to be practiced.

Stepping out through the temple doors, Martin was greeted with the icy cold rush of air of the Jerall Mountains. It felt like arctic pin pricks that stung his face and chilled his lungs. The monk wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep in the warmth. Outside, it looked like a winter wonderland. The full moon cast a bright yellow glow, reflecting upon the snow that made it glitter like diamonds. Somehow it reminded him of the Gold Coast and how tan grass it would shine like amber at dusk under the setting sun. The night watchmen greeted him with a loyal bow, and he waved back in return. He hoped that that was what he was suppost to do. Baurus suddenly came up from behind him, draping a fur cloak over his shoulders.

"Oh, thank you" said Martin, sound a bit embarrassed.

"You seem stressed, your majesty."

"Please Baurus, call me Martin. I don't think it's fair to address me so formally until I've been properly crowned. But yes, you're right. I find myself feeling much more troubled these days."

"Gold for your thoughts, then?"

Martin sighed. "It wasn't that long ago that I was simply known as Martin the priest, a simple servant in the chapel of Akastosh. Every morning I would join my brothers in services and handed out prayers to whoever came to worship. The most I ever had to worry about remembering to restock the hymn books or sweeping between the pews. I thought my life was perfectly content. Perhaps for a monk, it was. But now, I'm faced with this enormous responsibility that never in my life I thought I would be apart of. I have never thought of myself as someone of great significance, but to think that I am this country future emperor…it's completely daunting. I mean, I know absolutely nothing of my father, of what kind of man he was. Every thing I would ever want to know on what it takes to be good leader died with him."

Baurus intervened, stepping closer to Martin. "That's not entirely true, your high…I mean, Martin. As the emperor's personal guard, I can be the first to tell you that it was my honor to serve as admirable man as him. Never had there been a finer emperor than Uriel Septim."

The guard spoke with such wisdom and patience. "Tell me about him. What was he like?"

Baurus staggered. How was he suppost to answer that? Was it really he place to speak of his former emperor as if he knew him personally? He cleared his throat anxiously. "Well, what could I possibly say about his imperial highness? He was…kind, and charitably fair towards his citizens. He wanted to unite his kingdom under a common cause and a common goal; peace and unity. His highness believed in equality for every man. He passed laws that helped abolish slavery against Argonian tribes, sought over peace treaties with the Dark Elves in Morrowind as well as improved the taxation of citizens in the Imperial Waterfront district. Uriel Septim was a king for his people."

Martin was prepared to stop Baurus, but the blade knight continued on. "And his three sons; the finest warriors I have ever trained with. Alius was the oldest of the family. He was a stoic man; a commander in the royal military and serious to a fault who never tolerated foolishness from anyone. Especially when it came to his other brothers, Ocran and Dorius. Ocran was an experienced mage. Unlike her other two siblings, he preferred mysticism to the sword. He would have been a prime candidate for the Mages Guild but as member of the royal family, that wouldn't have been possible. He and Dorius were twins, so they generally bonded with each other. Dorius was a skilled alchemist and acted as his father royal advisor. Uriel Spetim adored his sons, thought of them as good men bound for greatest and in my opinion; I have to agree with him. His highness loved his children with every ounce of that he could offer and I…oh, forgive me Highness! I didn't mean that…!"

"No, that's perfectly alright Baurus" said Martin with a sigh.

Baurus appeared completely embarrassed having spoken of the former emperor and his children with loyal devotion. He nervously watched Martin as he calmly walked around the stone compound, staring up at the twinkling gathering of stars. He wasn't surprised to hear such tales of Uriel Spetim. He knew well of the kings' infamous kindness. Such reports were always printed in the Black Horse Courier, but it was only now that the heir was beginning to realize something. Uriel cared for his sons, loved them. But what of the son that he hide away? What about the baby that he had taking out of the Imperial City in the late hours of the night and had hidden in secret? Did you love that son as well?

Jauffre had spoken to Martin of what had transpired that night that the emperor called him into his chambers. A baby boy had been born and was revealed to be the next heir to the throne; an illegitimate heir. He couldn't help but wonder. If Uriel was such a caring father, why would he turn Martin away? All for the sake of his image as king? The priory leader spoke nothing of his mother, who she was. Martin could only conclude that if she couldn't have been of noble birth, otherwise he would have been allowed to stay. Still, even if the circumstances had been different, surely Martin would not been standing at this very moment.

He would have perished along with the emperor and the brother he'll never know. It seemed that fate had been looking out for him since the day that he was born. Yet the more he thought about it, the more jealous the young monk found himself. He lost out on knowing a family he had been dreaming out since he was a poor orphan boy. And now, as he stands on the brink of reclaiming just a small piece of what he lost, Martin had first deal with a coming war. An inheritance that he had never dreamed of.

"Your majesty? Are you alright?"

Martin nodded, squaring his shoulders back. "My father was a great man it seems, as were my brothers. Noble, righteous and honorable in every way; Tamrial was fortunate to have a munificent person, gifted with such leadership as Uriel Septim serving as emperor."

"You should not sell yourself short, my king. You possess such skills as well, and soon the entire kingdom will have the chance to see what kind of ruler you are born to be."

"You flatter me, but please it's not necessary. I know exactly what kind of ruler I am."

Baurus looked confused. "My lord?"

Martin turned to the blade knight with a discouraged gaze in his eyes. The wrinkles in his brow closed together in a dejected frown as his body slumped forward. "I am the bastard son of a king!" he shouted, drawing the attention of the some of the guardsmen. "I have lived the solitary life of a priest who knows as much of ruling a kingdom as mage knows about marksmanship! I have never as so much seen the Imperial City! To make matters worse, I must somehow led my people through an Oblivion invasion! How am I to defend them from the likes of the Daedra? Up until a few weeks ago, I was no nothing of my past and now…"

Before long, Martin realized that he was shouting and had gotten all of the guards' attention. They looked at him as if he had gone mad, but also with worry. It wasn't that far from the truth. Martin had gone through so many of same questions over and over again to the point that he did feel like he had gone insane. Everything had happen so fast. As much as he hated to think it, it would have been much easier had he never learned of his lineage.

"Forgive me," he continued, "but don't see how I am capable of becoming the king that Tamrial so desperately needs. I find myself consumed by such doubt and disbelief; I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to give the people hope."

"Hope is a very fragile thing, Martin."

The doubting priest and the blade knight suddenly turned when they heard a voice speaking behind them. The old monk of Weynon Priory and Grandmaster of the Blades stood in his robes who seemingly had been listening to their conversation the entire time.

"Master Jauffre."

"Sorry to have startled you. I was awaken by a loud noise and decided to investigate."

It was Martin's turn to look embarrassed.

"Baurus is right," said the monk. "You're putting too much doubt in yourself, and you don't even have the crown on your head yet. I understand though. A task such as this would make even the bravest of men crumple to their knees in fear. You have seen the kind of horror that lies ahead of us. You saw it in Kvatch, and to think that very same horror could spill over in all parts of Tamrial is almost too terrible to imagine. I'm such that it's what haunted his highness. Yet even though you may think that you are not ready for such a task, I believe it's the fates who will be the judge of that. Believe me Martin; you will lead our country out of this crisis. I have faith."

Martin scoffed. "Faith…I have as much as that as I do hope. Such things are hard to come by in times like this, especially after what I have seen."

"It happens to the very best of men at times. But that solace in knowing that you have the very best of men on your side, ready to fight and die for the sake of freedom." A smile appeared on Jauffre's wrinkled face. "After all, if hope was completely lost, then the Hero of Kvatch would not have been successful in closing the Oblivion Gate or delivering you to safety."

"That's right," said Baurus. "Place your faith in the Hero of Kvatch my lord, as I have. She has not failed us yet thus far. Having a comrade such as her will surely aid us in accomplishing a victory."

The Hero of Kvatch.

That was the only name that Martin knew the mystery woman by since she appeared one day following the destruction of the city. Apparently no one knew who she was exactly. Not Baurus or Jauffre. Her identity was a mystery but she had won the trust of Blades as well as the future king. She appeared out of nowhere, rescuing Martin after finding a way to sealing the Oblivion Gate revealing him his destiny. Ever since that fateful encounter, the woman had become a constant presence around the Cloud Ruler Temple. Her actions had earned her a reputation around the country as well as a place amongst the Blades.

And yet, Martin sensed that there was something more to her that met the eye.

She was an enigma to the heir. A puzzle that he needed to dissolve and understand. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why had she so willingly volunteered for the task of being the co-savior of all Cyrodil? Anyone else would have turned down the chance just to save his own skin, but not her. Rather than chucking the Amulet of Kings in the river, she rode in search of Jauffre, sought him out to insure the safety of the entire kingdom. A noble act for anyone. Since the moment the two met, Martin could sense that there was something different about the mysterious woman. He couldn't explain it. She seemed…special.

She had been gone for five days, out on a mission at the request of Martin to uncover a possible hideout of the Mythic Dawn. Finding them could lead them to a solutionthat could help recover the Amulet of Kings. It was dangerous task that would lead her straight into the heart of the Mythic Dawn cult. Truthfully Martin would have preferred that she had not gone. The Mythic Dawn were murderous assassins and to send her into their lair was madness, even though he knew she was more than capable of handling herself. Still, days passed and she had not returned.

"You're worried about her, aren't you?" Baurus pointed out.

Martin openly nodded. "Perhaps we should have sent someone else instead to find the location of the Mythic Dawn. She is known throughout the country for what she did at Kvatch. What if they made the connection between her and us and thought of her as a spy? She could be in danger as we speak!"

Jauffre solemnly shook his head. "With all due respect Martin, she knew the risks when you appointed the one to find the assassins. You must have realized that she was the only one capable of finding the book; otherwise you wouldn't have asked her. If it makes you feel more at ease, we shall give her another day. If she has not returned by then, I shall send out a small search party for her."

Hearing that brought some ease to Martin. Had something happened to the woman because of something he had asked her to do, the burden would have been awful to bear. It was hard enough being the source of Kvatch's destruction, but it would destroy him knowing that he had sent an innocent woman to a needless death. Another day seemed like too long a wait, but arguing with Jauffre at this hour probably wouldn't get him anywhere.

"Your highness, it'll be dawn in a few hours," said the Grandmaster. "It would make me feel better if you got some rest."

"Very well, Jauffre," Martin chuckled. "Baurus, please wake me should there be any developments."

"Of course. Sleep well your majesty."

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_The cries of pain and death echoed through the darkness like tormented souls trapped in a torturous state. The putrid smell of burning flesh, coppery rust and blood, the sound of screeching metal and crackling flames seemed to be everywhere. A world blazing orange and red greeted her eyes, where everything seemed to burn with the damned fires of hell. No, this was more than hell. A place that was much more sinister and drenched with evil. Oh yes, there was such a place. A realm where jagged steel towers stretched towards the sky like a menacing kingdom for the forsaken, where Daedra soldiers marched in droves together like mindless blood thirsty demons. A sea of fire stretched as far as eternity, fueled by fire balls that rained down from the sky. There were gates, thousands upon thousands of gates that were opened to the hordes of armed forces as they threw themselves into the fiery portals. So many gates, so many Daedra drones rallying for one common goal; extermination. The Oblivion gates opened and the world around him was consumed by nothing by flames, blood and death that seemed endless._

_A voice screamed for him._

_A female voice._

"_Martin!!"_

Martin shot up from his bed, panting and sweating as his eyes searched wildly around his bedchambers. His pounded against his chest like a steel war hammer threatening to burst through his rib cage. His breathes came in shuddering gasps before he finally found the will to calm himself. It was all a dream; a terrible terrible dream. The world of Oblivion had not come and invaded. The troops in black armor were gone. Everything had been a nightmare. Yet it still felt unbelievably real.

Martin found himself trembling with fear as he tried to compose his nerves. The images locked within his eyes refused to fade away. It appeared that surviving the burning of Kvatch had left a lasting impression on him. Resting his head in his hands, Martin sighed heavily. Outside, he could see it was still dark. He had only been asleep for an hour. Even if he tried, he highly doubted that he would be able to fall back asleep now. The ghastly demonic faces wouldn't allow him a moment peace. His fist tightened, gathering fistfuls of the bedding as he groaned.

"Is that what haunted you father?" he muttered to himself. "Are you trying to prepare me for what is coming?"

He sat there in silence for several moments, trying to will away the thoughts from his mind when suddenly a voice rang out from outside the temple.

"Open the gates!" shouted a solider. "Open them now! The Hero of Kvatch has returned!!"

Martin heard himself gasp. The woman had returned to the temple! Suddenly, the fear that had consumed him was gone and happiness filled its place. Throwing back the covers, he dressed quickly back into his robes and slipped on his woven shoes before bolting through his chamber door. The nightguard who had been standing watch jumped back startled as his king flew past him and straight out the double doors into the cold evening air. Once outside, Martin saw many other soldiers had awaken at the sound of the alarm, including Baurus and Jauffre. He searched, but saw no signs of the woman.

'Where is she?' he wondered.

The guards stationed at the balcony continued to shout. "I said get those gates open! By the nine, hurry it up!"

The tone of his voice did not sound that inviting to Martin. A group of men ran to the gate and he watched as they manually began to pull the heavy wooden gates open. It was slow and tedious process; the gates were so massive. Gradually, they began to part. A rush of excitement shot through Martin as he caught a glimpse of a rider positioned at the entrance. But as the gates finally gave way, his eyes widen in shock and his body began to tremble once again.

Someone screamed. "By the gods…get a healer at once!"

Other soldiers darted forward down the stone steps towards the gates. Martin stood in stunned silence. A horse appeared, hobbling up one step at a time while gingerly favoring a broken foot. One of the blades gathered the ruins and carefully led the wounded mare. Crimson blood matted its coat and mane. There were arrows notched in its abdomen. The poor beast neighed in pain. Martin recognized the horse, and his heart sank. On its back, the rider was slumped forward completely motionless. Martin saw that the tattered remains of clothing that the rider was wearing were also soaking in blood. The rider looked worse than the horse. There were gashes, stab wounds and lashings. Blood was streaming everywhere. The worst wound that the priest could make out had to be from an arrow lodged just below the rib cage that was bleeding freely along rider's side and leg. As the blades made the effort of calming the wounded animal, Martin darted forward, roughly pushing aside his men to get to the rider.

"Martin!" he heard Jauffre shout but ignored him.

"Baurus help me!" he ordered.

The redguard knight hesitantly obeyed and hurried to his kings' side as they both carefully dismounted the rider with as much care as possible. The smell of the blood was making him nauseous but he put aside his own discomfort and pulled the rider down off the saddle. She fell limp in Martin's arms like a rag doll. Her hair was matted filthy over her pale face which was also blood stained and slashed. The clothes she wore were mere ribbons, barely covering her naked body. As she came down from the horse, Martin carefully held her, mindful of the arrow. His fingers brushed back the dirty strands of hair so he could see her face.

One eye was swollen shut, purple and red. Crusted blood covered most of her features. There were bruises along her cheek, forehead and mouth, like she had endured a horrible beating. A circular bruise around her neck appeared to have been made by rope, as if she had been strangled. Her left arm tangled at an odd angle. Martin felt for a pulse. She was unconscious but alive thankfully. Her chest weakly rose and fell with each delayed breath that she took.

The priest could feel the eyes of the blades on him as he cradled her body against him. She was as cold as corpse against his skin, absolutely lifeless. The wounds that covered her body were too numerous to count. Her blood was beginning to stain his robes, but Martin did not care. How could he have let this happen? In his arms, the Hero of Kvatch had fallen because of his carelessness. She had rescued from death, and how did he repay her?

By delivering her to her death.

Grief consumed him as he held her. "By the nine…what have I done?"

Just then, Jauffre knelt next to the sorrowful king looking over the woman still form. "Martin, all hope is not lost," he said. "There is still life within her, but we must act quickly. She does not have much time." He turned to one of the blades."Chrios, go to Bruma and fetch Brathel at the chapel and Chud-ei at the Mages Guild. They are both skilled healers. Quickly, we must not waste another second! As for the rest of you, prepare the hospice. If anyone of you possesses any magical skills in restoration, report to the healing hall at once."

As the soldiers reported to their given duties, Martin did something he hadn't done since Kvatch fell.

He prayed.

"Blessed Akatosh, hear my prayer. I beg of you; forgive a foolish priest and unworthy king for doubting your infinite grace and mercy. I will do whatever you ask of me, but please do not let this woman suffer for my ignorance and misguided judgment. If there should be a punishment for my past deeds, then I will gladly endure without complaint. I only ask that you show mercy upon this poor soul. I beg of you Akatosh. Do not take her from me…not yet. I need her."

**Musical Inspirtaion:**

**The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion Original Soundtrack**

**The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring**

**The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King**

**The Secret Garden : Once in a Red Moon**

**The Secret Garden : The White Stones**

**The Secret Garden : The Dawn of a New Century**


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Green Waves

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: Wow, a personal best for me! A whole chapter in one day! A good and a bad thing since I don't have a beta for Oblivion and I probably have a minor mistakes here and there that I didn't notice. Even so, the reviews that I received were wonderful! I'm not really sure why this was so easy for me to write so quickly. Guess it's one of those mysterys of the world. Anyhow, I am as always welcome to any sort of reviews. Special thanks to WhiteSaille! I'm glad that I acheive the kind of goal I was working towards with this story and made it relatable to anyone whose played Oblivion.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion series is property of Bethesda Softworks Inc. I am only borrowing them; I promise I'll give them back.**

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**Chapter Two: Doubts**

Dawn had come.

Activity around Cloud Rule Temple had become wary with soldiers going about their duties in an apprehensive manner. A somber and solemn mood had fallen over the imperial stronghold. There was very little being discussed amongst the men. Conversations had been kept at a respectably minimal, but every so often someone was speak of the events that had taken place just a few hours earlier. As the blades carried on their contractual obligations, some were beginning to wonder what was going on in the hospice, a small sick house built within the mountains located along a path in the back of the temple.

Very little word had come from the shack on the condition of the Hero of Kvatch after she had returned horribly wounded. No one knew exactly the circumstances of what or who could've inflicted such injuries, but all suspected the deed had been done by the Mythic Dawn, the very group responsible for the death of the previous king. Wood Elf Healer and midwife Brathel from the chapel in Bruma as well as the Argonian mage Chud-ei had been quickly summoned in hopes that they would be of some help. Master Jauffre had gone including the future king of Tamrial, his highness Martin Septim. No messenger had come to the temple with any sort of update, which only left the blades plenty of time to speculate the worst.

The waiting seemed endless.

Many were trying to find ways of keeping themselves busy by doing what they normally would do; practicing their swordsmanship, resting in the bunks or look for something interesting to read in the library that could hopefully take their minds off the matter at hand. Gerich Moslin, an Imperial smith and knight that had taken it upon himself to take charge of the care of wounded horse the Hero had been riding. All his life he had a certain understanding of the creatures, and after seeing what the animal had been put through, his heart went out to the mare.

He busied himself in the stable, washing away the dried blood from its dark coat while being mindful of the numerous wounds. Luckily the injuries the horse was not as severe as they had appeared. The arrows within in it had not gone deep enough to be life threatening. He pulled them out as gently as he could. The horse neighed in discomfort, thrashing about in its' den.

"Shhh, it's alright," Gerich soothed. "Steady, steady there now. There's a good girl. Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

After that task was done, he feed the horse fresh hay and covered it the softest and warmest blanket he could find. The beast seemed thankfully for the Imperial's kindness, nibbling on the ends of his hair before finally laying down in the den of hay to rest.

"There's a brave a girl. Rest now; you've earned it. I'll be back later to see how you're doing."

Sighing, Gerich walked back out into the chilled morning air and was approached by Lucia Axia, another Imperial, a skilled archer and a good friend he had known for years. Sleep looked lost on the wrinkled features of her face. She had been one of the few soliders who volunteered in helping to carry the Hero to the hospice, but it appeared that she had decided to stay up in case there was any news.

"You look terrible," Gerich greeted.

"You smell terrible," Lucia replied with a smile.

"So, it doesn't seem like you've gotten much downtime. Why aren't you in the barracks with the others? You know it's important to keep your strength up, especially in times such as this."

She shrugged. "I don't know. Eginor and Amlolas are sleeping in there now, and I've always made it a point not to share a bed roll too closely to them. Their snoring is enough to wake the dead. Besides, I don't think I can sleep very much anyway."

Gerich registered the sound of despair in her voice as it grew lower. Her eyes drifted downward, frowning and her body slumped. Since the Oblivion crisis had become, hope had become a fruitless endeavor. Marauders were the only things that she had ever had to cross swords with but never Daedra. But with the long-lost heir to the throne discovered, Lucia had started to feel like there still some hope left for Tamrial. The arrival of the Hero of Kvatch only seemed to enforce that idea. She looked up to the strange woman, even though they rarely spoke. Just a simple greeting whenever she had come by.

Lucia saw the woman more than just a gifted warrior, but as savior. A miracle sent by the Nine. But last night, all her expectations seemed to be dashed away in an instant when she saw her liberator drenched head to toe in blood. It was a horrible blow to her; the Daedra might as well claim victory. Gerich approached her, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"I can't believe that this is happening," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. "All of people…how could the Hero of Kvatch be defeated? We were all hoping that this was the break we were praying for, and now there's nothing. Tamrial is lost. The gates of Oblivion will continue to open and all cities will begin to open one by one without yield!

"Lucia, stop. You mustn't give up on everything because of what has happened."

"But Gerich, did you not see her? Just when we think that we could possibly stand a chance against our enemies, they strike at us just as they had before. The Mythic Dawn imprisoned her, Gerich. They tortured her! Perhaps even at this very moment, she breathes her last breath, and if that happens, all our ambitions of triumph will have been laid waste! Now we are worst off as when they murdered the emperor!"

Lucia was near tears as she rambled incoherently. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over with emotion. She took off her blades helmet, tossing it aside in pure frustration as her fingers combed through the tangled mess of her hair. As a chocked sob escaped her throat, Gerich reached out her arms and held her against him in a surprising hug.

"Gerich?"

"I understand your sadness," he said. "You're clinging to whatever hope this is left in this world. But you must understand that even if the Hero of Kvatch cannot save us, then we must strife harder to survive. As blade knights, it is our job to ensure a future for Tamrial by protecting our king. I believe that Martin can lead us out of the coming darkness, so we must gather our strength and make certain that he achieves his goal of peace. It is what she would have wanted us to do in case she could not continue. Do you understand?"

Gerich didn't know if what he was saying was making any sense but he hated seeing a friend suffer. He had to be strong and hold onto the faith that was ever dwindling the longer this crisis carried out. Of course, he felt the same way that Lucia did. If the Hero were to die, then it would've been extremely hard to carry on. But he would have to follow his own advice and somehow find the strength to push forward. That was what he had learned from watching the Hero.

Lucia started to relax in his embrace. "You're very wise for a smith, you know."

"What? Did you think that I spent all day doing nothing but talk to horses?" he joked. He released her and looked into her eyes with determined resolve. "Trust me Lucia. The end has not come for us just yet. We must stay strong. The Nine have not yet abandoned us so we cannot abandon them. And please, don't lose heart when it comes to the Hero. She is much stronger that she appears. If she can't survive the horrors of Oblivion this long, then she will pull this as well."

Inhaling deeply, Lucia nodded. "Yes, you're right. It was foolish of me to be doubtful."

"Quite understandable, especially since you haven't gotten any sleep. You should go to the barracks and try to get some rest. If Eginor and Amlolas get to be too much, do what I do and stuff a pillow down their throats. Those two sleep like orges; they'll never notice."

Lucia chuckled and actually managed to show a smile a bit. "Again you demonstrate your vast amount of wisdom…for a smith."

* * *

The sick house had a musky odor to it. There was the smell of burnt wood, dried plants and the hint of old blood that never seemed to go away no matter how many times it was aired out. It was a small but efficient hut. The entry way was like any other room with table and chairs. Books on the shelves and stone hearth. The next room was lined with beds along the walls and a large fireplace where a blaze was already burning to keep the two room house warm. The place had not been used for quite some time. The furniture was dusky and not been washed. Healing herbs and salves were kept in stock but most were too old to be of any use. It wasn't the best place for patients at the moment, but Martin had very little place to complain.

Jauffre had forced him, or rather asked very rudely, to wait in the next room while he aided Brathel and Chud-ei. The flustered king implored to the monk that he wanted to be of some use. He tried to point out that he had been trained quite well in healing magic, but was brushed aside. Baurus waited with him, standing by the book case with his arms tightly crossed where he appeared to be in deep thought. The two of them were quite silent with each other, saying very little. The crackling noise of the fire was the only thing that would breakup the stillness.

Martin sat hunched over closely next to the fireplace in a large chair, fingers laced together and his elbows resting on his knees while he stared intensely into the flames. His breathing was deep and anxious. His body locked in a tense form. Each passing second was like an agonizing crawl to him. His robes were still stained with her blood and the smell was still overpowering. Fresh clothes had been offered to him but he refused to change. All that mattered was waiting for Jauffre to emerge from the back room.

His mind could not vanquish the image of her crippled body lying with his arms no matter how hard he tried. The bruises that marked her faces, the lashings and hideous lesions that covered her everywhere would not go away. He continuously played over and over the last few moments in his head. Martin recalled Baurus taking the woman out from his arms and placing her on a makeshift stretcher that was carried by several blades. Jauffre had mentioned something about there being a medicinal hut behind the temple used for treatment of wounded blades and to take her there. Martin had followed them closely, running along her side. He remembered holding her hand while making sure that she tucked warmly under blankets.

Once they arrived at the hospice, he was told that they had to wait until help arrived from Bruma. In the meantime, he occupied himself with the simple and mundane task of trying to clean off some of the blood. It wasn't much, but it pained him to see her that way. He used a bowl of water and a rag to clean her face, careful of her injuries. As he did, he spoke to her. He whispered softly to her, asking her to show any kind of sign that she could hear him. His hand held tightly to hers', hoping that she would respond.

Before he got an answer, he was dismissed.

As he waited, Martin had not stopped praying. It seemed pointless, but what else could he do? He could not be by her side as he so strongly desired. He could not help her, so he prayed that maybe the gods would pity him and show mercy upon her. All his life, the heir had been taught that Akatosh was a compassionate and empathetic deity, that he favored those who looked to him. If anyone was more deserving of his care, by the gods it was her.

Just then, Martin heard the door click open. He bolt upward off the chair as Jauffre appeared with the two healers following close behind him. The first thing he noticed was the blood on their clothes. Brathel and Chud-ei carried with them dirty rags that were stained red. Reading their expressions, they appeared grim. A hard lump formed in his throat as he approached them.

"What news do you have for me?"

The Wood Elf and Argonian first curtsied in humble respect.

"Your highness, her injuries are quite serious," said Brathel. "The loss of blood was quite significant. I'm actually surprised that she still has a breath in her body. Most of her wounds were treatable and should heal within a few days, but the rest will take some time. Perhaps even months." She paused, swallowing hard as she tried to find the right words. "From what I can see, it appears that she was made to endure long hours of punishment. Her back is marked with cuts made from a whip. It does appear that she was straggled repeatedly given from the bruises around her neck. Her left arm is broken as is her right leg. Handling a sword may be difficult. It'll be while before she'll be able to see out of her eye, but I do not think she will lose her sight completely."

With every word, with every injury relayed to him it almost too gruesome to listen to. Hearing it was making Martin disgusted with anger. Just what in the world did those Mythic Dawn bastards do to her?! Were they completely inhuman?! Behind him, Baurus sounded just as disgusted. He seethed with anger with each clenched breath.

"Will she awaken?" Martin asked in a shuddering voice.

Brathel didn't seem so positive. "It's possible. As I said, I'm surprised that she is even still alive. It's just a matter of allowing her time to rest and recover, so until that time has passed I can't say for sure."

Martin's shoulder fell, defeated. "I see."

Just then, Chud-ei stepped forward. "There is another matter that we must tell you, your highness."

"What? What is it?"

"I'm…I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it looks as though she is running a very high fever. Now it could be from her injuries as well as the blood loss, but from the nature of her present condition, it looks it could be Dragon's Fever."

"Dragon's Fever? What is that?" asked Baurus, speaking before Martin had a chance to.

"It's an illness regularly seen amongst my people," she explained. "It's quite serious, I'm afraid. The body develops a fever that usually cannot be treated when any sort of herbal medicine. Eventually the fever becomes high enough to the point that the inflected begins to have uncontrollable fits, is violently ill and begins to hallucinate. The body gradually weakens and eventually…"

"Enough! I cannot hear anymore!"

Martin's outburst surprised everyone, including Jauffre as he watched his king go into a rage. Nervously he walked back and forth, trying to grasp the concept of the situation. "Are you saying that even if she recovers from her wounds, there is still a chance that she could die from illness?"

The Argonian hesitated. "Sire, please understand. Given the fact that she is already weak from what she has been through, the chances of her survival are very slim. Right now, the illness is in the beginning stages. Her fever is very high and the herbs I've tired do not seem to be working."

"So she is going to die? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Martin, please stay calm. There might still be a chance for her."

Silence once again fell over the room.

"What? How?" Martin quickly asked.

"In the town of Skingrad, there is an alchemist named Sinderion who specializes in making potions that rejuvenates the body," Jauffre explained. "I met him once and he spoke of a particular potion that is suppost to cure the body of all aliments. However the main ingredient is elusive to find. Sinderion requires a vast amount of the Nirnroot plant which tends to grow only in dark and wet places such as bodies of water or dungeons. I don't know if it'll be of any help, but if Sinderion was correct of this potions' properties then it could help her."

It was the miracle that Martin had been praying for. He felt renewed joy wash over him as he quickly turned to Baurus. "Gather your men," he said. "Travel to Skingrad and have them locate this Sinderion. We need to know what exact ingredients are needed to create this potion. Find out how many sample of Nirnroot needed to be collected."

Jauffre interrupted him. "Forgive me, but are you actually considering sending out an entire army on a mission to collect plant samples? Martin, be reasonable! It's utterly ridiculous to even consider it! You have to remember what is more at stake. The sake of your country is resting on your shoulders and the waste of manpower at a time such as this is…"

That was the last the final straw. Anger fueled Martin as he snatched the collar of Jauffre's robes; grabbing him roughly and pulling him close to stare into his eyes. His voice dropped to an all too serious tone. "How dare you," he growled. "How dare you consider it a ridiculous waste to save a human life! This woman did not have to do anything we asked of her. She did not have to bring you the Amulet of Kings, or ride to Kvatch to find me. She could've let this world perish yet instead she has done everything in her power to see that Tamrial does not fall! And now, when she needs us, you are willing to turn your back her?! You would cast aside one of your own – a blade sister?! Where's the honor in that?!"

Martin was fuming as he stared into the old eyes of the monk. With each deep breath he took in, he could feel his anger growing hotter. The two healers watched him with caution. The old monk said nothing but allowed his highness' words time to sink in. He was right; abandoning a fellow blade now would be a betrayal to the very brotherhood. She had done too much for the empire already.

It was time to repay what he owed.

"Baurus."

"Y..yes High Master?"

"Nirnroot is best found around the shore of Lake Rumare near the Imperial Palace, as well as the Blackwoods near Leyawiin. You'll have to locate at least twenty samples for Sinderion to begin the making the potion. Ten more samples should be enough to concoct a potential cure. Remember to search in places a dark and considerable damp. If you must, search in dungeons as well but be wary of bandits and marauders. Travel to Skingrad and speak with Sinderion if you need anything. Do you understand?"

Jauffre need not say another word. Baurus was already stripping out of his blades armor and dawning something like conspicuous to travel in. He gathered his sword and strapped it to his belt buckle as he headed out the doors. "I understand master. I will not stop until I have completed my mission. It's time that I pay back the debt I owe to her also."

Baurus stepped out into the frigid cold and was gone. Martin released his hold on Jauffrie's monk, feeling a bit light headed after his emotional outburst. He staggered, trying to collect himself as the two healers tried to help him to his seat. Jauffre watched with concern, walking over to the fireplace and retrieving an iron kettle that hung over the flames.

"I'm sorry Jauffre. I shouldn't have acted that way."

"No need to apologize, your highness," he said, pouring him a cup of tea. "You had every right to get angry with me. What I said was inexcusable, considering all that she has done for us up until now. We will do what we can for her, but I have to be completely honest. It doesn't look good. It'll be a miracle if she pulls through the day."

The monk handed the heir his cup but he waved it off. "Akatosh has blessed us with one miracle already, my friend. She is still alive. We must keep faith in not only him, but in her as well."

The healers had retreated to the hospice back room again to continue their treatment on the ailing warrior. It had become another waiting game for the exhausted king. He would have to bear through the nail-biting wait for Baurus to return with a potential cure for the feverish illness plaguing the hero. It was almost too much to grasp. The fact that with each passing second, her life was slowly fading in the waiting darkness of death and Martin could do nothing but watch. He lifted himself from his chair and made his way to the door to the hospice. Cracking it open, he peeked into the room.

He saw her, lying immobile in a small bed with the Wood Elf and Argonian nurses surrounding her. She did not appear to be the same person he met back in Kvatch. The woman he knew was strong, brave…and beautiful. He did not recognize this person, this frail and sickly being that looked to be on the verge of death. He walked into the hospice as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb the healers. Martin almost gasped as his eyes looked upon her. Bandages soiled with dirty blood covered most of her body. Her pale face was wrapped in white; her swollen left eye was covered over. Her broken arm was bandaged tightly and rested over her chest. The small comfort he could take from watching her was the slight movement with each shallow breath.

Brathel and Chun-ei saw Martin watching them and bowed as they finished their work. "Summon us if you need us, your highness."

Once he was alone, Martin sat by her bedside. Suddenly all that he had ever wanted to say to her, all he ever wanted to know about her seemed pointless. Would she be able to hear him? Did she even know that he was there beside her? In Kvatch, Martin would often have to visit the homes of the sick and offer prayers for their health. And more times he found himself praying for them after their deaths. He had nearly exhausted himself from praying but for her sake, Martin resided himself to do nothing else until Baurus returned.

_Hear me silent prayer, heed my quiet call_

_When the darkness soon surrounds you_

_Step into my sight_

_Look inside light_

_You will know that I have found you_

_-Dreamcatcher; The Secret Garden_


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Green Waves

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: I hadn't planned on updating this story yet, but several factors helped change my mind. One: I finished playing RE5 and was in the mood of going back to some of the games that I put off because of it. And two: It seems that people out there really enjoyed the last two chapters I posted awhile back. I really have to take everyone who read and reviewed last time. I really LOVE getting reviews, and I hope that I recieve more this time around. I wrote this one rather fast mainly because I wanted to please those who wanted to read more. That's how much I love you guys lol! It was kinda weird for me to switch gears from RE5 back to Elder Scrolls; don't really like to do that cause it f**ks up train of thought with my other stories. I have a RE5 story that I want to get back to, but I wanted to update this one since I felt bad of making everyone wait so long. **

**Enjoy! And keep those reviews coming! Oh, and please excuse any of my mistakes. Like I said, I wrote this in a hurry so later one when I get the chance I'll go back and look it over for the stuff I didn't catch before.**

**Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion series is property of Bethesda Softworks Inc. I am only borrowing them; I promise I'll give them back.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Pray**

It was snowing again. Soft flakes fell silently and delicately as the hour of nine came and went. Against the glow of the moon, the snow glowed a radiant frosty blue light. The wind whistled through the cracks of the hospice hut. Frosty ice crystals sketched across the windows in elaborate patterns. On any other night, this evening would've been an enjoyable one. It was the very beginning of the winter solstice. It would've been the perfect opportunity to take in the romantic splendor of the Jerall mountain side.

But even so, no matter what kind of beauty the Bruma landscape had to offer, Martin Septim could not enjoy such a splendor.

With only a thick bear-skinned blanket to shield his body from the cold, the future king of all Tamrial watched the snow gently cake around the ridges of the stained glass. A fire burnt nearby in the hearth to add extra warmth to the tiny recovery room. An iron kettle hung over the flames as a pot of sheep meat stew was cooking. Martin fidgeted in his chair, trying to ease the knots in his back. His muscles were aching after sitting in one spot for over nine hours. His behind felt even worse. The low rumble in his stomach reminded Martin that he hadn't eaten in awhile. Only crumbs were left on the plate from his last meal, and the sheep stew was starting to smell very appetizing. In his lap rested a tattered and scorched prayer book he had seen being accepted into the order of Akatosh. It was the only thing he managed to salvage before the opening of the Oblivion gate.

It was the only surviving relic of the lost city of Kvatch, aside from him. Martin put his prayer book back within his robes, took a small piece of bread from his plate and turned his attention to the sleeping figure in the sick bed. The injured woman rested underneath layers of blankets and fur in an effort to keep her warm from the cold. She hardly flinched as Martin tucked the covers closer around her petite body, ever so carefully and mindful of her wounds. Her chest rose and fell with every shuddering breath she took. It seemed weak, but nonetheless it was proof that she was still alive. He saw her long dark lashes fluttering while her eyes moved back and forth beneath the lids.

She was dreaming.

Delicately, Martin rested his hand on her warm forehead. She began to moan softly in her sleep, groaning as her body twisted in discomfort. In the next room Martin could hear the two healers, Brathel and Chud-ei, busying themselves making a mixture of Lady's Mantle leaves, Mandrake Root, and Cairn Bolete Caps to create a herbal tea for the hero. It wasn't a cure, but it would help starve off bad dreams brought on the Dragon's Fever. The smell was overpoweringly disgusting, but according to them it was the best thing until Baurus returned. His knowledge of herbal medicine was quite limited, so he was placing all his trust in the healers.

It had been only three days since Baurus deported from the temple in search of the necessary ingredients to create of cure from the illness the hero had succumbed to. Baurus' mission was to search across the region for the single most important ingredient, the one needed above everything; the elusive sample of Nirnroot plant. Jauffre had mention that an alchemist named Sinderion specialized in making potions that could revitalized the body and cure even the most powerful sickness. No word had returned to the temple from Baurus on whether he was successful, leaving Martin with nothing to do but hope for the best. His hand brushed against the sick woman's wet bangs, being as tender as he could to her wounded body.

"Rest my friend," the soon-to-be king soothed. "You are amongst friends here. No harm shall befall you in this place."

She shifted under the covers, letting out a stifled gasp of pain. It seemed that her dreams were shifting into the harsh realm of nightmares. It was one of the symptoms that occurred to those who suffered from Dragon's Fever, tormented by hallucinations so powerful and real that one was often driven insane. The sickly woman's head jostled back and forth as her voice groaned in aguish. Her body arched up, trembling as her undamaged hand clutched the bedding in a tight ball.

"No…stop," she uttered. "Stay…away…away. Please…stop."

Martin's heart squeezed hard in his chest, hearing her voice her pain. It pained him to see her suffer in such a way that he was unable to protect her. He couldn't even bring her comfort with his presence. She was in so deep into the fever that he doubted that she could even hear him. That hurt Martin more than anything; to know that she was so far from him in place he could not follow to rescue her. Often when Martin's thoughts were bold enough, he wondered exactly what the warrior was made to endure. She had been gone for many days and nights, trapped in the lair of the Mythic Dawn's lair. Her back was scarred with the jagged marks from a slavers' whip. Her neck bore the burns of ropes tied around her like a noose. The Mythic Dawn had their ways of dealing with those who interfered with their business. Jauffre had said that he should grateful that the warrior had managed to free herself and return to the temple, but Martin couldn't see it that way.

He was the one who requested her to infiltrate the Mythic Dawn's hideout. Martin knew of the danger that the mission entitled, and yet above all the other blades fully capable of handling it, he asked her. Martin was just as to blame for her pain as the people who murdered the king. He did not fully understand whom he was up against. He showed poor judgment and because of his weakness, someone he valued more than himself was paying the price. Just then, her body lurched forward as she let out a loud, deep gasp followed by a scream of terrible agony.

"Stay away!! Stay away from me!!"

Martin put his hands on her, holding her down to keep her from falling off the bed. "Peace my friend! You're alright here!" The two female healers rushed into the room, carrying with them the foul-smelling herbal tea.

"Highness, what happened?!" asked Chud-ei.

"I-I'm not sure," Martin replied, stammering. His hands pinned the woman down on the bedding as firmly as he could without bringing any more injury. She wrestled against his strength, screaming and thrashing in a powerful fit. "She's dreaming, but I think the fever might be affecting her. Please, can you give her something to make her more at ease?"

"Hold her still sire. The tea is nearly finished."

The wood elf and the Argonian placed their equipment on a nearby table. Brathel rushed through her work, grinding the last of the Mantle leaves and Mandrake into a paste with her mortar while Chud-ei watched over caps as they boiled in the pestle. They focused intently on each other in attempts to block out the frightful screaming filling the hospice hut. Martin remained at the woman's bedside, speaking to her as calmly as he could to ease her pain.

"Shhh it's alright. It's alright, you are safe. Peace, be at peace my friend. No one here will hurt you."

He saw her good eye slowly open and suddenly turn to look straight at him. The priest's heart skipped a beat and his throat closed. He remembered their first meeting in Kvatch, just soon after the beasts Oblivion burned the city to cinder when she arrived at the crumpling chapel for him. He remembered being lost in such dark doubt, surrounded by death when no relief in sight. He remembered praying to the gods to bring it all to an end before the sounds of the dead and the dying drove him mad. Then, as if the gods were finally answering his prayers, she came. The woman whose name was a mystery arrived to rescue him from hell's grasp.

Her eyes – he remembered looking into her beautiful eyes and seeing only hope and compassion. There was trust and unyielding sympathy in her that Martin had thought had died with Kvatch. At that moment, as she was breathing hard in pain and her body shook with fear the king recognized that stare. It echoed the same emotions he felt back in the chapel. Her eyes were dark now. Gone was the beauty that had captivated him when he first saw her. Tears streamed down her pale face as her cracked lips trembled against her gasp.

"Please…please don't…stay away."

His hand found hers, entwining his fingers and locking themselves in a clutching embrace. Martin lowered his lips closely to her ear, and he began to whisper a prayer.

"O heavenly spirit, grand mother Dibella. Goddess of mercy and love I pray to you. You who watches over us and grants us the majesty of your divine grace, you who embraces the weak, services the sick and cares for the lost, I pray to you as your humble servant. Yee who seeks the endless care of her blessed heart, I pray for you. Peace be bestowed upon you. May Dibella find you and bless with her love forever and ever. Fear not death and walk into the glory of her splendor."

Martin could feel his throat starting to choke on the last lines of his prayer. Too many times had he had to recite those words whenever he was in the presence of someone on the verge of death. He had been taught by the monks and priests that when he was speaking the prayer, he was not to show his own emotion. He wasn't allowed to show weakness or his own grief when reciting the old text. It was meant to bring comfort in the moment of death, but Martin could not hold it back. His forehead pressed against her sweat-ridden flesh as he tried to swallow down his emotions.

"By the nine, what did they do to you?" he said in a hushed tone.

"The tea is ready your highness," said Brathel. "Here, help us get her into position."

The wood elf and the Argonian came over to the bed, holding a cup of the freshly brewed tea. Martin slid his arms underneath the woman's shoulder, carefully rising her up from her sweat-stained pillows. She continued to thrash against him, screaming even louder. "No, get away! Get away from me!" Her voice crooned throughout the hut, crying out as her body tried to pull away from the king's hold. "Please!! Stop!!"

"Sire, you must hold her tightly! Her injuries can be mended later!!

Martin wrapped his arms firmly around the woman's body, keeping her arms tucked securely at her sides. She cried out as he applied pressure to her broken arm. The Argonian reacted quickly, holding the woman's mouth open while the wood elf started to pour the tea down her throat. A rather crude and unethical way of going about it Martin thought. But given the circumstances, it proved to most effective. The woman fought the three, her voice gurgling and choking as the tea was poured into her mouth. The wood elf massaged her throat in order to get her to swallow just a few drops. After an exhausting struggle, the woman relaxed herself enough to where she willing drank the healers' brew.

Martin sighed with great relief. "That's it," he coaxed. "It's alright. Drink it slowly."

"The tea will take affect in a few short minutes, your majesty," said the wood elf. "She will sleep a little more soundly, but she must still be watched over. Her fever could spike higher if left unchecked. Will you be needing anything else in the meantime?"

Martin said nothing as he lowered her head carefully back onto the pillows and readjusting her blankets.

"Sire?"

"No, that will be all. However, if word should return to the temple that Baurus has come back I want to be informed immediately."

"Understood sire."

As the healers left the king alone with the injured woman, Martin busied himself with the mundane task of dipping a wash cloth into a bowl of water and dabbing it along the woman's sweat-ridden forehead. The tea was working it seemed. Her breathing had slowed and had returned to normal rhythm. Her body was relaxed and not as daunt as before, which meant that she was finally finding the peace that he had been praying for all night. Although he still didn't know whether or not she knew he was there, but even so seeing her resting comfortably again brought him some kind of comfort. Outside, the snow was continuing the fall. The world was completely unchanged by what had just transpired in the small hut. It had grown very silent and tranquil once again. Martin searched for his tattered prayer book, thumbing through the old pages until he found the passage he was looking for.

He held the warrior woman's hand as he calmly read to her.

"Blessed are those who pray to the Nine. Blessed are those who walk in their divine light and seek the wisdom of their teachings. Grateful in strength and spirit, the mighty rise to service the righteous and vanquish the evils into the smoldering abyss. May the ones who hold true the will of the gods find their way into embrace of the divine. May those who brave the wicked and protect the weak earn the reward of truth….and those who serve the goodness of man be given pardon now and forever." Martin held her hand closer to his face, absently pressing his lips against her cool skin. "Peace be given to our brothers and sisters, by the will and grace of Akatosh."

* * *

Baurus drudged through the thick greasy marshes of the Blackwood, swatting away hungry bugs that nibbled underneath his armor. The smell of wet earth soiled by unmentionable filth filled in his nostrils while the sounds of another downpour thundered just above head. His body was felt tired and worn out. He had been hunting through the marshes since early dawn, only stopping to deal with the likes of marauders, bandits, wolfs and whatever else was crawling through the woods. He rested for several short minutes but soon he would have to return to Leyawiin.

Marius Caro, count of Leyawiin, had given the knight shelter within his castle. The count knew nothing of his reasons for being in his kingdom, just that it was a matter of dire importance that could spell the difference for the kingdom. Of course Marius Caro didn't speak against such a request. Baurus had spent the whole day searching through the weeds, combing through almost every blade of grass in hopes that he would come across the elusive Nirnroot. He had learned from the alchemist that the plant was easiest to find if you knew how to look for it. The Nirnroot gave off a unique and heavenly tone, humming with its own essence and glowed a bright green. Baurus had managed to find five roots, but it would need at least fifthteen more.

The search would have gone a lot easier and faster had the knight recruited more men with him, but it was wise not to draw that much attention from the Mythic Dawn. A league of Imperial knights galloping all over Cyrodiil wasn't what one would call stealthy. And so the redguard was left to search on his own. As he used his sword to slice his way through the tall weeds, he suddenly heard the sound of the familiar hum. He stopped, and listened. The distant bing of the Nirnroot was nearby. Baurus followed the sound as it led him through the under grove and closer to the shore. He moved down a slippery slope carefully where his eyes spotted the Nirnroot cradled safely in between two rocks.

"There you are," he muttered. "And not a moment too soon."

He jumped down from the cliff and plucked the root from the ground. He placed it carefully into his side pack along with the others; he now had six. Feeling completely drained, Baurus started to climb back to high ground. As he heaved himself back up the slick cliff, he was suddenly meant with a pair of silted reptile eyes and a cruel speaking voice. "Well well, what do we have here? An Imperial knight whose venture too far from the city? Are you lost little knight?"

Baurus quickly drew his sword. Before him stood a red scaled Argonian bandit clad in dwarf armor and brandished a long steel sword in both hands. Surrounding behind him were other bandits all with the same murderous greed glowing in their snake-like eyes. "Stand down vermin! If you want to walk away with your lives, then I suggest you depart immediately!"

"Ha ha listen to him! He's actually giving us orders," chuckled one of the bandit. "He's obviously not a very smart knight now is he? What's in the bag sir knight?"

"I do not answer to the likes of you!"

"Hmm…must be something important if he's not willing to share with us."

"Well then," said the bandit leader, "guess that means we're going to have to take it from him."

The sound sword being unsheathed could be heard as the sky started to crack with thunder. Baurus clutched his side pack tightly to his body, keeping as far from sight of the bandits as possible. Even though it was just roots, the bandits didn't know and would kill him regardless. The bandit advanced towards, for a moment all Baurus could see was the glow of their eyes as the thunder crashed and the lightening above blinded him.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I rather proud of myself how I managed writing the prayers. Those are completely and entirely written by my own ideas and not something that I acquired from the game. I wanted the ending to be a bit longer but I was really pressed for time. I hope I left it off at a fairly good cliff-hanger until the next chapter. **


End file.
